


Un-Stealing Christmas

by smthwallflower



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smthwallflower/pseuds/smthwallflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Parker accidentally steals a stack of letters destined for Santa in the North Pole, and now she’s responsible for granting the Christmas wishes of seven children. Eliot and Hardison aren't keen on it, but they're just going to have to suck it up and help her play Santa for a couple days so Christmas isn’t ruined for everyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Un-Stealing Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Just_Ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Just_Ruth).



> This is "Christmas in Portland - first one without Sophie or Nate". Hopefully you like :)

**December 23 rd**

**BridgePort Brewing Company, Portland**

 

Tiny reindeer kept appearing around the bar.

It felt like every time Eliot turned around, he was knocking one over on the counter, or off the top of the tap head, or into the register’s cash tray, or off a plate of burgers and fries that (despite Parker’s insistent badgering) did not need festive, holiday cheer.  

“But he’s hungry,” Parker had protested, the first time he’d plucked a tiny stuffed reindeer off of a plate. The little guy had nose-dived into the ketchup and gotten a Rudolph-nose for its trouble.

Eliot shook his head, not sure if tossing the toy into the garbage would be worth the offense it would cause. “They’re not carnivores Parker; reindeer don’t eat meat.”

Parker saved him from a decision by snatching it away, promptly sticking the little guy’s nose into her mouth and licking off the ketchup. “Well, Seth likes potatoes,” she stated, from the corner of her mouth. Eliot stared at her, until she rolled her eyes with a huff and disappeared into the lunch crowd.

 _Seth_ appeared ten minutes later under a bowl of soup.

-

“But it’s almost Christmas,” Hardison whined, dragging his feet into the briefing room behind Parker. Between the bar and their new enterprise of Leverage International, they’d been working non-stop. Literally non-stop. There were false identities to maintain, props to make, microbrews to create, minions to background-check and interview, blueprints and histories to research… hundreds of movies Parker still needed to be introduced to and fall asleep in the middle of. The list was endless.

But Parker was hunched over a pile of letters, completely and utterly ignoring his plight. “What’s up?” Eliot asked, closing the door behind him as he came through, an open beer in his hand. The bar was closed for the afternoon – for Christmas, actually, because it was the day before Christmas Eve, and they were supposed to be done working until _after_ Christmas was over.

“Parker’s wants to make us work,” Hardison told him unhappily. “On Christmas Eve.”

“Technically Christmas Morning too. But like, way early, Christmas morning. So it won’t really count. 

The half-skip Eliot had been coming into the room with became a cautious pause. “What?” he asked, the beer hovering just below his lips.

Hardison shrugged, wishing he had the same ‘if I don’t move, the predator might not see me’ mentality. “Don’t ask me, man.”

Eliot cleared his throat and then asked: “Parker?” Hardison wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear a little bit of a wobble in Eliot’s voice. 

It took Parker a second, but eventually she looked up – only, the manic grin Hardison had been expected wasn’t there. Instead, she looked nervous and a little worried, her eyes a little glassy like they’d been at the end of Finding Nemo, when they’d found Nemo.

“I did something bad,” she said quickly, “And now I need your guys’ help to fix it and I know it’s Christmas and stuff but I might’ve ruined Christmas for like, seven kids. And it’s my fault and not Santa’s that their Christmases’ are going to be ruined, so we need to fix it.” It came out sounded like chipmunk squeaking, and she amended awkwardly after a beat, “I mean, I need to fix it.” 

Parker’s slowly expanding sense of responsibly was still learning what the differences were between Parker problems, Parker-and-Hardison problems, and Parker-and-Hardison-and-Eliot problems. “Nah, we need to fix it,” Hardison said firmly, and Eliot almost choked on his beer. Hardison glared at him, and Eliot glared right back, but Parker seemed to be reassured, and that was the important bit.

“Ah, Parker, what exactly did you do?” Eliot asked, weary of any actions Parker considered ‘bad’. And, truth be told, so was Hardison.

The projection screen clicked on, and seven photographs of hand-written letters appeared, superimposed over a smattering of research. The large, uncertain writing (that was in some instances incredibly disproportioned) supported Parker’s claim that she’d wronged kids.

But the letters didn’t seem like anything too important, just a hello to Santa and short lists of desired presents…

Oh.

“I was in the postal van stealing the present you ordered for me online,” Parker started, glancing at Hardison, who could only think: oh, that’s why I haven’t gotten it yet. “But when I got home, I realized that a stack of letters must have snuck into my bag, because then I found these.” The letters were on scattered across the countertop, and Eliot ventured in to take a closer look. Parker slid out of her seat, grabbing one with a frazzled, “And now Carl’s not going to get that Skylander’s thing, because Santa doesn’t know he wants it! 

Eliot was alternately poking through the letters and taking sips of his beer, his face neutral.

But Hardison was still stuck on: “You stole your own present from me?”

Parker put the countertop between them, looking away, almost vibrating with her nervous energy. “It was going to be mine anyway, right?”

“You’re not supposed to take it from me though – I’m supposed to give it to you. That’s the whole point of presents.” Hardison frowned, realizing that he was oddly upset about it. It wasn’t surprising, and it shouldn’t have mattered, and it was actually all part of his ‘Parker’s Christmas present plan’, but it still hurt a little.

“I could give it back to you, so you could give it back to me? If you wanted?” Parker suggested, and it felt like a cop out, and Hardison shook his head.

Before he could say anything though, Eliot drew their attention, holding up one of the letters, “Cameron wants his dad to get his job back – Parker, you know we won’t be able to make some of these happen, right?”

Burying his upset, Hardison moved closer to the screen, scanning the requests. Most of them were pretty typical: toys, electronics, books… but then there was Cameron’s: ‘daddy to get his jod back.’ And some kid who signed their name as a mess of shapes that couldn’t be considered letters. They wanted ‘more air for baby PeTe to breathe’. Hardison felt his heart crack a little at that one. 

Parker, as per usual, had a plan already brewing. “No, see look – Eliot, you’ll go get the toys that’re still in the stores and stuff. Hardison will look up where the ones without addresses live, and,” she pointed with the remote, and then Cameron’s and Shape-kid’s letters were highlighted, “Then all we have to do is figure out how to get Baby Pete air, and how to get daddy’s job back. Easy as crown jewels.”

Despite himself, Hardison could feel his good ole’ heart starting to nudge his tired-ass brain into wanting to help these kids out. Yeah, Santa wasn’t real. And yeah, their parents might have already gotten them some of this stuff… but air for baby Pete? Hell, if they could help with that? They had to at least try. 

Plus, even though he was a little annoyed with Parker right now, when he turned around and saw the hope and faith and confidence in her eyes… bottom line, she was his lady. And damn it if seeing her happy wouldn’t go and make his day right like that.

Now they just had to make sure Eliot was on board…

“No… not you too,” Eliot said, helplessly, shaking his head, trying (and failing) to stand his ground. “Seriously?” he asked. His resolve was no match for Parker’s puppy eyes and Hardison’s ‘aw man, com’on!’ face.

He looked between them, frowned, chugged his beer, and then sighed heavily as he gently placed the empty bottle on the counter. “Fine,” he growled, indignant that he was being bullied into playing Santa Claus, “Let’s do it then. But you owe me,” he muttered, pointing between the both of them. 

“Yay!” Parker screeched, jump-hugging Eliot and kissing him happily on the cheek. “I knew you’d do it! You’re the best,” she grinned. Then she pushed a piece of paper into his hands, and skipping away to drag Hardison to elsewhere. 

Eliot skimmed the list and shouted after her, “I am _not_ stealing a real reindeer from the zoo Parker!”

-

“Most of the kids put their home address on their letters,” Parker said, and Hardison could see five letters in the ‘with address’ pile. There were two that Parker was holding out to him, and he stared blankly at her. “Find their addresses,” she told him, and his mouth opened, but he actually couldn’t form the words.

She wanted him to what? Oh, right, that. Of course. Just do the impossible. Sure, sure, just like always.

By the time he had a comeback ready, she was already gone.

“Deep breath, tiger,” he told himself, rolling out his neck and cracking his fingers, “You a champ, and you got this.”

-

Luckily, Cameron and Suzy were part of the group who had smart parents who realized their kids didn’t have the skills yet to properly address an envelope. Their families were easy to find, and it didn’t take Parker long to figure out that Suzy was six, and her little brother, Baby Pete, was almost four, and checked into the ICU at the Children’s Hospital with something notated: BO. The only thing she could think of was Body Odor, but that seemed unlikely to be true.

Cameron’s dad was a Structural Engineer – or he had been. Parker looked through his history, conveniently complied and spat out by one of Hardison’s creepy computer programs.

Cameron’s dad, Roger Collins, had gone to high school, then college, and then graduate school, and graduated with an advanced Engineering degree. After working at a private firm for five years, he got recruited by the military and become a Construction Control Technician.

Then he’d gone overseas, and he’d come back. He got his old job back, got married, had another kid… and then he was terminated from his position.

That had been December 1st, and Parker tried to click on the position, but there weren’t any records associated with it. Weird.

The company was hosting a Christmas party tonight though, and Parker looked at the clock, which told her she had plenty of time to go see Baby Pete, and then drag Hardison to the party.

- 

Eliot’s clenched the steering wheel of his truck, reminding himself that he’d experienced things a lot worse than pre-Christmas traffic at the mall. 

He hadn’t even made it into the mall properly yet, and he was already regretting his compliance with Parker and Hardison’s plan. No, he corrected, inching forward so that the person pulling out of a spot _right_ behind him wouldn’t hit scratch his paint. No, it wasn’t a plan. It was a… whimsical idea, he decided, turning on his signal light and sitting back to wait until the family in front of him cleared their space.

Someone’s horn blared behind him, but he ignored it.

It was whimsical, and it was going to blow up in their faces somehow, and they didn’t even know these kids. Or their families. They could be buying presents for the Mexican cartel’s prince, for all they knew.

Well, no, they couldn’t be doing that. They weren’t that lacking in information about the drug runners in their city – they weren’t that irresponsible.

The family cleared the spot, and Eliot gave them room to pull out – they waved happily at him, and he gave them a smile.

And then someone nearly clipped his front bumper while stealing his spot. 

-

“Excuse me,” Parker said, her hair done up in a business ponytail, glasses sitting on her nose, and someone’s misplaced lab coat hugging her shoulders. “That boy there, he’s having difficulties with his lungs, yes?”

She was doing her best doctor-Sophie, and the doctor across from her raised an eyebrow before nodding sadly, “Yes. His name is Peter. When he came in, he had pneumonia. By the time we managed to get it under control, his lungs were already compromised. A severe case of bronchiolitis obliterans – we catch it quickly nowadays, so it didn’t get a chance to spread far, but he’s so young... the majority of his lungs aren’t functional anymore, and they won’t be able to keep up with his body as he grows. It doesn’t look good for the poor little guy.”

After a moment the doctor excused himself. Parker stayed a while, watching the little boy with the little oxygen mask over his little mouth and nose, and the big machine next to him beeping and humming obnoxiously.

How were they supposed to fix this?

-

There were seventy-four wailing children that he could see running around, and at least another fifty more he could hear screaming and shouting.

It was absolute madness.

There was a reason he avoided doing last minute shopping. And this was precisely it.

“Whoa there, bullet,” he frowned, sidestepping a kid who was no older than six. “Where you off to in such a rush?”

The boy stared up at Eliot, uncomprehending. Eliot glanced around, hoping to find someone watching, or at least a panicking adult looking for their lost child.

As luck would have it, there was no one; just people continuing on with their holiday shopping, arms full of bags.

“You know where your Ma is, kiddo?” he asked, and the kid pointed – at an empty bench against the wall. “Don’t think anyone’s there bud,” Eliot told him gently, and the kid turned to look. It took a second for the boy to register that there was no one there. When he finally looked back at Eliot, there were tears in his eyes.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Eliot said quickly, crouching down, “Don’t cry. It’s fine. ‘cause she’ll be back in just a second.”

And almost as if the universe had heard, a young mother pushing a stroller with her hair up in a messy bun shouted out, “TIMMY!”

The boy jerked backward, forgot that Eliot existed, and clamped his arms around his mother’s legs as she came in next to them. 

“I hope he wasn’t bugging you,” she said, crouching down and hugging little Timmy. “He’s always running off; I know I should keep a better eye, but it’s so tough…”

Eliot read a novel into the sad tone her self-criticism ended in. In an instant, he understood – single mother, not recently widowed, but still getting used to spending the holidays alone. War and hate had made widows of a fair number of his friends’ wives, and they all had the same distinctive air of tragedy and strength to them.

“He was no trouble – every kid’ll run off now and then,” he told her genuinely, and little Timmy stared up at him, his eyes wide.

The encounter was going on a little longer than typical stranger-bumping, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Monica,” she told him, smiling warmly, “And you know Timmy, and the sleeping girl in the stroller is Tiffany. And what’s our hero’s name?”

“Eliot,” he told her, smiling back, and he caught the back of Timmy’s coat automatically as the boy bolted, seemingly keen on getting knocked down by shopping bags.

And it wasn’t his fault if they ended up getting coffee and chatting, supervising Timmy and Tiffany while they played in the small mall park.

-

Five hours.

Five hours of cross-referencing, of financial statements, of family photos on the Internet, of hacking into school records, of handwriting (if you could call it that) analysis, and one awkward phone call to the police station…

Hardison found the kids. Or at least, where the kids lived. And he hadn’t even had their last names when he started, just a list of toys.

He heard the door open behind him, and he turned in the chair, eager to share his triumph. “I am a GOD! I found them!” he grinned, punching the air, but Parker didn’t look happy, and he choked back the speech of glory he’d rehearsed. “You don’t look too well, mama,” he said softly instead, and he let Parker fall into his arms.

Parker’s nose nuzzled into his collarbone and he wrapped his arms tight around her body, pulling her in, resting his cheek against her head. “’s alright,” he muttered; there were a lot of situations where Parker wanted physical comfort, and there were a lot of situations where she didn’t. This was one of those times she did, and as she melted into his arms, Hardison could feel her physically confirming the emotional connection they shared.

“You right?” Hardison asked softly when she started to fidget. He let her pull away, the troubled storm that’d been preoccupying her, calmed.

The bounce was back, and she smiled softly, “I’m good now.” She kissed him then, softly and lovingly, and he kissed back, an anchor in her whirlwind world. When she pulled away, that telltale manic grin had resurfaced.

“Aw, damn,” he moaned, sensing where this was going, “What you want me to do now?”

-

It was a good thing Eliot brought his truck – there were so many different toys stuffed into the bed, he could barely get the cover closed. Finally it clicked shut, but not without crunching some cardboard under it.

There’d only really been a couple things on the list he could get at the mall, but once he realized he was already there and going through the chaos, he figured getting some toys to drop off at the local Toys 4 Kids bin couldn’t hurt.

Just before he was going to start the process of escaping the madness, his phone started to ring. The hands-free in the truck picked it up, and he put his hand on the passenger headrest as he craned his head back to see out the rear window: “Hey.”

“Did you get them all?” Parker asked, and he found himself smiling from her enthusiasm.

“Yep,” he told her, inching backwards – he jerked to a stop as a horn blared, but there were so many cars surrounding his spot, he wasn’t sure if he was the target of it.

There was a pause, and Eliot could imagine Parker’s frown. “Why are people honking?”

“Because they’re uncivilized,” Eliot told her, gritting his teeth as the three cars behind him started edging towards each other, each playing chicken for a spot he hadn’t even gotten out of yet.

“Oh, okay. Hardison and I are going to the Westin Tower downtown; you’ve got a ticket for their fancy Christmas party, under Tom Howkins.”

“How fancy are we talking?” he asked, putting the truck back into drive when he realized that none of the drivers were backing down, and they were in serious danger of hitting him.

He heard Parker relay the question to Hardison, who answered, “Black tie, mama, you’re wearing that dress, ‘member?”

“Black tie,” Parker repeated, and before he could protest having to wear a suit, she said, “We’ll stick the suit you’ve got at the bar in the van. You’ve got the key, right?”

The cars had finally stopped advancing on one another, and now they started blaring their horns unrelentingly, three different and yet equally annoying tones.

“Was there an accident?” Parker asked, and Eliot shook his head, reaching for the door.

“No. But there might be if people don’t stop being dicks. I gotta go.”

-

It was a fancy Christmas party indeed – they had real champagne, and it was almost good enough to distract Hardison from how amazingly incredible Parker looked.

She always looked good in a dress, and she was getting much better at grifting – but Hardison had a feeling the thing that was really making her shine tonight was her Christmas mission.

He hadn’t seen her this happy in ages, and it seemed like everyone she was talking to was getting infected by her unflappable cheer.

“Date night gone wrong?” a voice asked from behind, and Hardison tried to make his lovey-eyes into angry-eyes as he turned to respond,

“It seems that not for the first time I’ve been left on the sidelines, forgotten for more… common prey.” Hardison gave his English accent a little cockney for the rougher edge.

The mark, actually named Mark, gave an airy laugh, “Isn’t that the way it goes? And then they come crawling back when their fun’s over, so you can keep paying their way.” 

Mark wasn’t on speaking terms with his soon-to-be ex-wife.

“Not a married man then, I hope?” Hardison asked; and then he cringed in fake sympathy-pain when Mark nodded,

“I’d say it was a mistake, but you either fix mistakes or learn from them. No, there’s only one thing to do with a women, you know what I mean?”

Hardison barely resisted the urge to punch Mark the mark in his stupid face. 

“Hear,” Hardison said instead, tipping his glass towards Mark and taking a sip. Take the cue, Parker slipped between them, putting a friendly hand on Mark’s arm.

“And who’s your new friend?” Parker asked, playing up the country girl.

Mark hated women, but he loved paying for sex with them.

“Mark Clearwater, hello,” Mark smiled, and he had a nice smile, and he was smiling at Parker, and he was a pig, and the possessive pull of Parker’s arm was both choreographed, and a little genuine.

Parker frowned, pulling her arm away from Hardison’s. “Al,” she chided, flipping her hair – a little too hard, since it smacked Hardison in the nose and sort of ruined his whole ‘I’m the shit’ vibe. Mark was too preoccupied by her attentions to notice, and she pushed up against him a little,

“I’m sorry, he gets so jealous. I have no idea why – sometimes a girl needs more, y’know?” Parker whispered into Mark’s ear, and Hardison couldn’t believe that it was almost Christmas and they’d landed a mark who got his head turned round by lines that should only be heard in bad pornos.

“It’s not poor little me’s fault, if I’m not satisfied, is it?” she asked, her right had brushing down the lapels of Mark’s suit while her left dipped into his back pocket and pulled out his clearance card.

Hardison cleared his throat, taking the card in one hand, and stepping between them as he slid it into his jacket. “I think we’re going to get some air,” he told Mark firmly, and Parker clung to his arm, pouting. “Excuse us.”

“See you soon,” Parker said, winking at Mark, and Hardison was glad that they were done with that.

They did in fact, go outside, and Parker checked her phone as Hardison tried to wipe his memory of slimy Mark. “Ew,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, shivering. “Just, no.”

“We got it, didn’t we?” Parker asked, valley girl gone, replaced by his much preferred Parker.

“But ew,” was Hardison’s response, and he sat down at one of the small tables, leaning back against it. “I really don’t want to go back and talk to that guy again.”

It was an idle comment, made mostly because Parker was preoccupied with the other pieces of their con, and he wanted to talk. But Parker looked a little panicked at it. “But you have to – we can’t have him coming up while Eliot and I are going through his office!”

“I’ll do it,” he clarified easily, “I’m just saying the guy’s gross.”

Parker nodded, “Yeah. So are most guys.”

Huh? “We are?”

“Not you or Eliot,” Parker clarified absently, still absorbed in her cell phone, “ And Nate’s good too. And Hurley. McSweeten was too sweet to be gross, and his partner was too. And that guy who drove those kids around in that bus. He was cool.”

“But most guys are gross,” he said, repeating her words. And if Parker said most guys were gross, then she genuinely believed that most guys were gross. And that made him sad, as part of that gender.

Parker nodded, oblivious. “Eliot’s here,” she said, starting to go, but Hardison stood up and grabbed her hand, stopping her.

“Wait. Just, tell me why most guys are gross?”

The question made Parker pause, her mind finally processing that this was a Big Deal for him. But she was good about answering him about stuff like this, usually, and she thought for a second. “I guess… when I was growing up there wasn’t really a whole lot of good guys around. They were all pretty gross. But you guys are good,” she reassured, stepping forward, cupping his hand in hers. She looked down at their joined hands thoughtfully. “I think if I’d had this, instead of that, I might not think that.”

“Right,” Hardison nodded slowly, because he got what it meant to grow up with the exception for everyone else being the rule for you.

They stayed like that for a nice moment. Then Parker’s mind moved on, and she went to leave, before realizing: “Wait, you meant you’re good, now, right?”  

“Yeah mama,” he grinned, and they went off to find Eliot.

-

“Damn it Parker,” Eliot hissed as his nose collided with the door. Parker shushed him – so the door was on a spring; at least he was there to prevent it from slamming shut. “I think my nose is bleeding,” he said, and he sounded more annoyed and disappointed than anything.

Parker shushed him again, and he growled at her. “We’re here,” she told him, using a flashlight to avoid the chairs on her way to Mark Clearwater’s desk. She turned on the desk lamp when she got there, which gave them enough light to work in without being obvious.

The USB was already pre-programmed to scour the hard drive and network for any files related to Roger Collins, the jobless dad, and anything that had any sort of security measure associated with it.

“Is it going yet?” Eliot asked, scanning the bookshelves, looking for secret buttons or hideaways.

“Downloading,” she told him; she left the electronics to do their electronic thing, starting a methodical search of the desk drawers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eliot crouch in front of a liquor cabinet that had some sort of creepy alien-head statue on top of it. “Bingo,” he muttered, and Parker knew he found a safe, and they switched places silently.

It was a Glenn-Reader 94-01, a mid-level 2013 model. It took twenty-two seconds to crack. There was a shelf full of money, and another shelf full of paperwork.

Parker’s heart wanted the money, but she knew the thick folders were going to be the score on this particular job.

“Thing beeped,” Eliot said, and he carefully navigated the mouse on the screen to eject the USB before pulling it out of its slot. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Parker answered, closing the safe after swiping a neat bundle of hundreds. It would’ve been criminal not to.  

 

**December 24 th**

“What’d you find?”

Hardison blinked out of his doze, “Huh?”

Parker was standing next to him, looking at the projection screen intently. There was a cup of coffee by his elbow, and a glass full of orange soda beside that. Parker had a bowl of cereal in her hands, and it was the sound of crunching that jumpstarted his brain into coherency.

They’d stayed the night in the spare room upstairs, which had more or less become theirs. Eliot had left late in the evening because of a text message, and Hardison had a strong feeling he’d ‘met’ someone at the mall.

“With the thing,” Parker clarified unhelpfully through a mouthful of cereal.

The projection screen was separated into two sections: one side with Baby Pete’s medical need-to-know info, and the other with what they’d uncovered from Mark Clearwater’s office.

Guessing that the ‘thing’ meant Roger Collins’ unjustly termination, Hardison minimized the other stuff. “Between what you found in the safe, and the stuff on the computer… turns out, Clearwater took to fudging all sorts of field and safety reports after Collins left for the army. Workplace injuries went up 47%, and there were actually two fatalities on an off-coast oilrig. And that’s just the recorded stuff. The companies tried to get Clearwater to admit the faults in his construction, but he buried the evidence and pretended that he didn’t know anything about it. Collins came along, and boom. Kept him on just long enough to avoid attention for firing a guy back from war, and there you have it.”

“We’ll have to take him down for that too,” Parker said, her voice in the faraway land of plotting. “We wrap what we’ve got into a nice little package, get it to the government inspection agency and Clearwater goes down.”

“Except,” Hardison said, and Parker’s grin faltered, “Clearwater’s got the government officials on the payroll.” He brought up the financial statements linking the two. “Government’s a no go.”

Parker frowned. “Fine. Then we’ll leak the documents and hit him with a media storm. Expose his operation and the people’s he’s got in his back pocket. Eliot’s at Safety One Corp. getting Collins an offer as an inspection and development officer, so we’ll seal the deal there and then let Collins do the deed.”

Which would work, Hardison mused. That was one down and done with.

Baby Pete was next, and he pulled up the info. “Little Pete’s a little more complicated. Hospital records show he came in with pneumonia, just like the doctor told you. They caught it, fixed it – then at some point it turned into this bronchiolitis obliterans thing, which basically causes the cells in your lungs to die. Means they can’t breathe anymore, and they can’t fix themselves - they just turn into useless scar tissue. Problem with Pete is, he didn’t have much lung to start with, being so young.”

“They can’t fix it?” Parker asked, and Hardison could see the effort it was taking her to keep her face neutral.

“Well, no. Not really. Just oxygen, and in Pete’s case a transplant, eventually. But the family’s insurance plan only covers the basics, and caps at $750,000. It’s one of the crappier companies out there. And the family’s nearly used it all, and they’re gonna need a lot more for a lot longer.”

“But you can change that,” Parker said, and Hardison nodded,

“Already have. He’s been put into a private room with unlimited coverage, no expense spared.”

That got a smile for him, even though he would’ve done it anyway. “Can we move him?” Parker asked, and Hardison grinned. He knew she would ask, and he already had an answer. 

With a couple clicks, he got all the pictures laid out proper. “Baby Pete is going home for Christmas.”

 

**December 25 th**

**12:02am**

 

“Here you go,” Parker muttered suddenly, shoving a small package into Hardison’s hands and trying to bolt away.

Eliot was busy arranging the last of the presents into the cargo van they’d borrowed, and they were just about ready to leave to get their Santa Claus-ing on.

Hardison caught Parker’s arm before she could run away, and she reluctantly let him pull her in. “Is this…?” he asked, staring at the little package and its curling tape.

“I wanted to give it back,” she muttered guiltily, staring at the unopened cardboard box. “I didn’t open it. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

It was about the right size for what Hardison ordered, and Parker was saying that this was what she’d stolen from the van. The thing that’d started this whole bizarre Christmas business.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t open it,” he said, starting to smile. Yeah, he’d been upset that she’d go as far as actually stealing it, but part of him had been expecting that. Part of him had been dropping the clues on purpose, so she’d be distracted from the real prize. Plus, she hadn’t opened it. That counted for a lot in his books.

“What do you…? Oh! No.”

She looked scandalized, and Hardison couldn’t help but laugh, “I didn’t want you snooping around. I mean, I didn’t want you to steal it away from me, but I knew you’d be curious.”

“What’s in this then?” she asked, reaching for the box, and Hardison let her take it, laughing,

“Packing peanuts.”

Parker stared at the little box, shaking it. “Okay. So then what did you actually get me?” she asked eagerly, and Hardison was equally pleased that it was going to be a surprise for her.

He winked and gave her a kiss. “You’ll see in the morning.” 

- 

**1:36am**

“Hide!” Hardison hissed, shoving Parker behind the Christmas tree, as Eliot ducked behind some curtains.

“Santa?” a voice came, and Hardison turned around slowly. A small kid in a weirdly sophisticated tiny bathrobe stared up at him with a confused frown. 

Hardison swallowed thickly, saying the first thing that came to his head: “Ho, ho, ho…” He had a Santa hat on, but other than that he was wearing his B&E blacks.

The kid didn’t seem to notice how nervous he sounded, just curious about: “Santa, why are you all black?”

“Um…” Hardison cleared his throat, not used to grifting kids in their living rooms late at night. “What, Santa can’t be black?” he finally asked, going for indignant, and the kid shrugged, unconvinced. Hardison glanced around, catching sight of the fireplace. “’sides, you think the chimney’s I gotta come down are super clean or something?”

And that, the kid seemed to accept. “Oh. Okay. Thanks for the presents Santa,” he said, and he stared until Hardison told him to go to bed.

-

**2:43am**

“Parker,” Eliot hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible while still conveying the appropriate level of urgency. The family had left cookies out for Santa, and Parker was stowing them away in her pockets like a crazed cookie-monster. 

She waved him off, poking through the carrots that were presumably for the reindeer. They’d put four presents under the tree – Eliot would never say it, but he was a little impressed with Hardison’s ability to wrap oddly shaped things. There was a bicycle with 14” wheels wrapped up and leaning against the couch, and it didn’t look hideous.

“I’m coming!” Parker whispered back at him, and he realized he’d been glaring at her. Delicately, she placed a little stuffed reindeer (Eliot was pretty sure this one was named Ezra) next to the plate.

They cleared the house, heading to the cargo van. It wasn’t the least conspicuous way to get around, but since it was three in the morning on Christmas day, kids were (mostly) out cold and parents were (mostly) desperately trying to get as much sleep as they could before they were jolted awake in the morning.

-

**3:28am**

“But where’s the reindeer?” Parker asked, sounding devastated and yet hopeful, standing at the back of the cargo van. They were on the third to last house. Hardison and Eliot had been in charge of wrapping the presents while Parker had gone to make last minute arrangements with the hospital, so she didn’t know exactly what was what.

The cargo van was mostly empty by now; the next house was going to be Cameron’s, and then Baby Pete’s to finish things off. Except, there was no reindeer – and Sabina had expressly stated she wanted real, live reindeer for Christmas this year.

“I told you I wasn’t getting a real reindeer,” Eliot grumbled, dragging what was probably the biggest present out of the lot across the floor of the van. “This is going to have to be good enough.”

“60 inches, self-standing, life-like reindeer built for toddlers and preteens alike to ride-on, sit, and climb all over,” Hardison provided, grabbing two bottom corners of the giant box as Eliot jumped out of the van and took the opposite two.

Together they lifted it, and Parker followed, unconvinced. “But that’s just going to be creepy.”

“Not as creepy as a real reindeer in their living room,” Eliot muttered, shifting the weight of the box so he had a better grip. There were actually two life-like reindeer in the box, one full-sized and the other a little smaller/younger.

He still couldn’t believe he’d managed to find them. Portland was a very odd place.

Parker made quick work of the front door lock. They couldn’t physically fit the box through the front door no matter how they turned it, so Parker went around to the back, and opened the big sliding doors. “But she wanted real, live ones,” she argued once they were inside, and Eliot and Hardison lowered the box in the middle of the living room, because there was no where else it could conceivably go.

“And her parents will be ever grateful that particular detail was overlooked,” Hardison reassured. “Com’on, we’re almost done.”

-

**4:03am**

“Do you think they’ll see it here?” Hardison asked, looking doubtfully at the envelope that was sitting innocently on the counter. It had the promise of a future for Roger Collins and his family in it, as well as everything he needed to take down the company that fired him.

Parker was fussing over under the tree with the other presents they’d brought, and Eliot folded his arms, leaning against the fridge. “Hardison, these kids are going to wake up in, what, an hour and a half, maybe two hours? What’s the first thing you would need to deal with kids that early in the morning?”

“Orange soda?” Hardison asked, and Eliot shook his head,

“If you were normal?”

“Coffee,” Parker answered, bouncing in from nowhere, throwing her hands around Hardison’s neck and kissing his cheek. He grinned, putting his hands on her hips so she wouldn’t fall over.

The envelope was, in fact, right beside the coffee machine. “Good point. Let’s get out of here before they find us too.”

-

**6:10am**

“Ready?” Parker asked, and Baby Pete looked up at her, his eyes glowing with happiness and an infinite future. His curly hair rebelled outwards against the nasal cannula that threaded over his ears and across his chubby cheeks. The oxygen tank was almost as tall as he was, and it sat between him and the fabric side of his miniature wheelchair.

They’d managed to con his mother home for the night, which had been a monumental undertaking in itself. Parker was pretty sure dear mom knew what they were planning, and that was the only reason she’d agreed to go.

Now Baby Pete, just four years old, was holding on to her hand with tight excitement as Hardison pushed. “Feeling okay?” she double checked, and he nodded, glancing eagerly at the front door of the home he’d not seen for entirely too long.

Eliot brought up the back with the two nurses, carrying a portable hospital bed and rest of his home set-up. 

The snow that had started a few hours ago hadn’t yet let up, and it was swirling in odd oblong shapes around the group as they made their way up the gently slope of the front lawn.

Parker rung the doorbell, and Baby Pete pushed the cannula off his face and wiggled down out of the chair. “Wait,” Parker said, pulling him back from the door, still holding his hand, worried he was going to keel over and die right there without the oxygen.

The door opened, revealing a small girl and her father.

“Pete?” the little girl asked, her mouth falling open and her eyes going wide. “Pete!!” she shouted as she ran forward. Baby Pete lurched into her arms, and Parker let go of his hand, figuring that if he hadn’t passed out yet, he was good for a few more seconds.

“But… how?” the father asked, and Hardison pushed the wheelchair past the two hugging kids, and into the house.

“Santa didn’t get your letter, but we did,” Parker said, taking the oxygen and cannulas from Hardison as Baby Pete started heaving for a breath. The little girl, Suzy, looked panicked, and Parker crouched down so Baby Pete could fit the plastic tubes back into his nose.

“What letter?” the father asked, and the mother appeared behind him.

“Peter!” she shouted happily, reaching down and lifting him up into a hug – Parker held the tank awkwardly, moving with their motions as the tube threatened to stretch too far.

“Suzy sent a letter to Santa,” Parker explained, relieved when the mother finally took the tank from her. Suzy was beaming, and Eliot moved past them with the hospital bed and the nurses. “I… got it, by accident. But we still wanted to help.” 

Hardison passed the father a thick package, all the forms and information the family needed to know. The mother was crying and Suzy was jumping around, and Baby Pete was holding onto his mother’s neck like he was never going to let go. The father looked at them speechless.

Parker took a few steps back, so she could hover behind Hardison – helping people was great, but sometimes she started feeling uncomfortable when they were like this. Anger she knew how to deal with, but happiness on this level? It was different, and strange, and not something she’d gotten used to yet. Where were Sophie and Nate to absorb the brunt of it when you needed it?

“Thank you,” the father was saying, stammering, shaking Hardison’s hand. Eventually the handshake turned into a hug, and Hardison patted the guys back gently.

Parker drifted a little further away, and once Eliot came out of the house, she tugged on Hardison’s shirt. “We gotta go,” she told them abruptly, “But Merry Christmas.”

They looked a little confused, like things were happening too fast, and they still didn’t understand what was going on.

“It’s all in there,” Hardison reminded them, pointing to the package in the father’s arms before bowing out and following Parker and Eliot to the cargo van.

They all piled in, buckled up, and started the engine.

“Damn,” Hardison said, and it was one of those rare moments where Parker felt like she understood the true weight of emotion behind the word.

-

**8:30am**

The only flaw in Parker’s plan(s), it would seem, was that by the time everything was said and done… the three of them were utterly exhausted and sleep deprived.

They’d returned the cargo van, and made their way back to the bar. Hardison had claimed the loveseat in the office, putting a hearty log fire on the projection screen at 10% brightness, and filling the room with the dim glow of Christmas lights. He was the first to pass out, lying flat on his back with his Santa hat flopping down to cover his eyes.

Parker was next, stretching out on top of Hardison, her head tucking into his chest. Hardison woke up enough to put a hand on her back, and then they were both out.

Eliot sat in the armchair next to them with a beer, watching them out of the corner of his eye as they fell asleep. _Merry Christmas_ , he thought, smiling to himself as Parker gradually adopted a cat-like curl against Hardison, who shifted his arm to hold her more snuggly.

It wasn’t soon after they fell asleep that sleep started calling to him as well. It tugged at his eyelids, his mind buzzing with contentment and warmth. It didn’t take long to finish his beer, and for a second he basked in the feeling under his skin: the pleasure of good deeds done, and the comforting presence of the two of the best people he’d ever known.

Then he went to cover Parker and Hardison with a blanket, because it was a little chilly and Hardison’s fake fire wasn’t doing anything to warm the place up.

One last check of the locks and the cameras, and he settled back down into the armchair to kick up the footrest and close his eyes.  

-

**9:15am**

“Oh dear, why is it so dark? I thought we were supposed to be surprising Parker – Hardison said that we were supposed to be surprising Parker… What in the…?”

Eliot had opened his eyes at the first sound of the lock unlatching – but it was being opened with a key, and not a lockpick, and he had a good idea of who it was. The alarm system was disarmed before it had a chance to even beep a welcome, and there were only two people besides them who knew the code.

“It’s not all dark…”

The side door came through straight into the back room, and Eliot registered Sophie and Nate, standing on the edge of the two steps that led down to the briefing space.

“Aw, look them. Precious,” Sophie whispered, cooing, her hand over her heart.

For a moment Eliot met Nate’s eyes; he couldn’t see much in the dark, but he did see a passing look of recognition.

“I told you they left all those presents.”

Nate and Sophie knew? The news must have picked it up, Eliot realized, the families must have reported it. But the presents were paid for, and it’d been a good thing to do, and it had made those kids happy. And most of all, it had made Parker happy.

“Why don’t we leave them to kip,” Sophie muttered, “There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate later.”

“And I thought we’d gone overboard with presents this year…” 

Eliot couldn’t hear the rest of Nate’s sentence, but he wasn’t particularly concerned. In the dim red and green glow of the back room, with Parker and Hardison stretched out next to him and Sophie and Nate watching over them from the bar… he could rest easy and rest happy.

 

 

 

 


End file.
